


Pink Leopard Print Pajamas

by thishasbeencary



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Fluff, Pre-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-04
Updated: 2017-03-04
Packaged: 2018-09-28 07:55:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10080263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thishasbeencary/pseuds/thishasbeencary
Summary: Yakov told Viktor that he had to socialize with more skaters. He didn't mean the ones who were too young to even compete as juniors. But he wasn't going to stop his top skater from inviting ten-year-old Yuri Plisetsky over to spend the night. He just... sort of thought that Yuri would refuse.





	

**Author's Note:**

> "SMALL VIKTOR AND YURI'S FIRST SLEEP OVER FEAT. LEOPARD PRINT PAJAMAS" was the totality of the idea I had upon starting this fic. It was going to be for Yuri's birthday, but I ended up busy, so, never mind! Random fluff of our favorite Russian idiots. <3
> 
> So this is probably slightly au, considering I'm making Yuri like ten when Viktor first meets him but shh. It's not my fault Viktor is 12 years older than him.
> 
> @Viktor: Yuri is ten, he's not that small.
> 
> Come hit me up on tumblr at [yoyoplisetsky](https://yoyoplisetsky.tumblr.com/) (sports anime (mostly yoi and free!) side blog) or [cary-onmywaywardson](https://cary-onmywaywardson.tumblr.com/).

 

“Who’s the small one, Yakov?” Viktor was leaning over the edge of the rink, already taken his skates off and carrying his bag. He was _supposed_ to have gone home hours ago, but he’d stayed to watch the youngest of Yakov’s skaters. He waited for the coach to walk over to him, fiddling with the end of his ponytail. Maybe he should cut it soon. He loved his hair, and all, but wasn’t it time for a change?

“Viktor, they’re all small.” Oh! His coach had made it over to him, and Viktor looked up with an eye roll. Yakov huffed out a breath in exasperation, watching the skaters, who were almost finished with their practice. This group was between ten and twelve years old – not quite old enough to compete for juniors, where you had to be thirteen, but old enough that Yakov could see their potential and agreed to coach them.

“Yes, but the new one. The little blond, with the leopard print skate guards.” Viktor gestured in the direction of the young skater, who was off to the side from the rest, working on step sequences that were impressively complicated for such a young boy. Clearly, he would be very good when he got older. He’d seen him in practice a few days in a row now, and was interested in him.

Yakov did say he needed to talk to more of the other skaters (and maybe he didn’t mean the youngest, but it was good! _Viktor Nikiforov_ paying attention to you? He was sure any of them would be excited. He’d been the top in the sport for years already).

“Yuri Plisetsky?” Yakov’s eyes went straight to the boy, and Viktor nodded. “Why are you asking about Yuri?” He could tell from Yakov’s voice that his coach already could tell that Viktor had some idea he probably wouldn’t agree with.

“He’s very good, yeah? How old is he?” Maybe if he showed actual interest in the younger skater, Yakov would be less exasperated when he heard Viktor’s plan. Not that Viktor _wasn’t_ interested, he was! Yuri always seemed very focused on what he was doing, and he could tell there was a spark of himself in there, as well.

“He’s only recently started training to me. He moved to St. Petersburg to start.” Yakov eyed Viktor, obviously suspicious, but he was telling him anyway, so clearly he at least trusted Viktor a _little_. “He’s ten.”

“Does he know who I am?” Viktor slung his skate bag over his shoulder, a plan clearly formed. “When do his parents usually pick him up? Can I talk to them today?”

“Vitya, they all know who you are.” And, obviously, they did, considering he’d seen the skaters all glance over a few times while they’d been working their way off of the ice, their practice clearly over. Yuri Plisetsky stayed on the ice longer, the last one on by far, finally skating off and grabbing those small (were children’s feet _so_ small?) leopard print skate guards. “His parents don’t pick him up.” It seemed like a sore subject, and Viktor only took that as more of a reason to take him under his wing. “His grandfather does, and he’ll be here soon. Why do you want to talk to him, Viktor?”

Ignoring Yakov’s sigh, Viktor grinned, eyeing the boy again, who hadn’t bothered to look in their direction, unlike the rest of the skaters. “He’s going to come to my apartment. And we’re going to get to know each other.”

“Vitya, he’s ten.”

“You told me to get to know other skaters!”

“Not the ten year olds!”

“It would be good! Inspiring him, teaching him!”

“No one needs to learn from you.”

“Yakov!” Viktor scoffed, insulted, even though he knew where his coach was coming from. Yakov was good to him, and _maybe sometimes_ Viktor didn’t listen the best in return. But he was still a good skater, and he did _most_ of what Yakov wanted him to do!

“Fine! You can ask the boy and his grandfather. I doubt he’ll say yes, anyway. He seems to prefer sticking to himself.” Yakov gave in, and Viktor grinned, jumping up to wrap his arms around his coach, who rolled his eyes and shoved the twenty-two-year-old (honestly, sometimes Viktor acted more like a ten-year-old than the ten-year-olds did) off of him, letting him bounce off to Yuri Plisetsky.

Yuri Plisetsky looked up at him, and shock only crossed his face for the briefest moment before a scowl did, and Viktor stood there in shock as the first words from the tiny ten-year-old’s mouth were, “What do you want?”

“Um – “ Was _Viktor Nikiforov_ speechless because of a ten-year-old? He blinked again, just staring down at the boy, who was looking at him expectantly as he shoved his gear into a battered old bag. “I’m Viktor – “

“Yes, I know who you are.” Yuri Plisetsky rolled his eyes at Viktor, and Viktor was amazed at how much attitude this tiny boy had. “And I bet Coach Yakov just told you who I was.” Wow! Yuri was already dropping the formality of calling Yakov coach Feltsman, even if he kept the ‘coach’ in there.

“Yuri Plisetsky.” Viktor nodded, and Yuri considered to stare at him expectantly. “I was wondering if you’d like to come over to my apartment this weekend. To get to know each other better.” This plan seemed much worse when spoken aloud to the boy who’s scowl hadn’t entirely gotten away since Viktor had come to him.

“Why are you asking me? Don’t you want one of the older skaters? Maybe one your own age? ‘cause you’re _old_.” And now, in a maybe _more_ terrifying turn of events, Yuri’s scowl turned into a smirk, like he was proud of calling Viktor old.

Viktor was almost insulted, except that he could also hear that spark of hope in the younger skater’s voice when he asked why him. “Why not you? You like skating, I like skating! And I have friends my own age!” That was… like… half a lie. He spoke to other skaters closer to his age (like Georgi Popovich, he could consider Georgi a friend, probably), but he hadn’t made friends with the older skaters and barely knew the younger skaters.

Maybe he’d moved up from Juniors too soon. He’d just wanted to be in a bracket with more competition, and Yakov had agreed that it was good for him. But he hadn’t trained with any of the older skaters, and the younger skaters were still one by one making their way into his bracket, so in Russia, really, Viktor was… alone, most of time. Maybe that was why Yakov was telling the twenty-two-year-old that he needed to talk to the other skaters more.

“Everyone here likes skating, otherwise we wouldn’t be here.” Why was Yuri fighting this so much!? Did he not want to come over to Viktor’s apartment? Oh, but he was talking again! “I guess you have to ask my grandpa, then. But, whatever, if you want me to, I guess I’ll go over to your house, old man.”

He was definitely reading too much into Yuri’s words, but Viktor decided that he was absolutely excited to be coming over, and nodded his head. “Perfect! I’ll ask him as soon as he gets here.”

Nikolai Plisetsky showed up not long after that, and it was decided. After a little confusion on the older man’s part (confusion which Yakov was able to solve by sighing and telling him that Viktor got these ideas sometimes, but he was harmless. Did anyone assume he wasn’t?), they decided that Yuri would come sleep over with Viktor that Friday, and be picked up from the rink the next day after practice.

Oh! Then Viktor had to prepare! His apartment was stocked just fine for one person, but for one person and a ten-year-old (ten-year-olds are people too, Viktor)? He’d need more food! And – and – and –

After practice that Friday, Viktor threw his hair in a messy bun and went out onto the ice to help Yakov with training the younger group (“If you’re going to be here, you might as well put yourself to good use!”). Yuri Plisetsky avoided him, but the rest of the skaters seemed excited for him to be there, so he helped teach them simple tricks that he knew Yakov wouldn’t be angry at them for knowing.

(And showed off a little bit. They were impressed. Who wouldn’t be?)

When they got off the ice, though, Yuri Plisetsky walked right over to him, and Viktor smiled, glad that he had remembered. He was only clutching the same battered bag from before, but it seemed more full, which was good. Even though Viktor had a surprise at the apartment for him.

“I live very close so I usually walk back, is that alright?” He hadn’t even thought about if the younger skater would be tired after practice, but Yuri just scoffed and nodded, so they were off.

He claimed he just held onto Viktor’s hand so that he didn’t get lost, and immediately let go once they reached the apartment.

Immediately upon opening the door, Makkachin came tumbling forward to attack Viktor, and after a few licks, saw Yuri. Yuri was looking at the dog in… confusion? Viktor shoved the dog into the apartment, making sure that Yuri was in too before he closed the door.

“This is Makkachin. Big, but won’t hurt you.” Viktor scratched his dog’s ears, watching for a second to make sure that the dog wouldn’t topple Yuri to the ground before walking to the guest room to set Yuri’s bag down.

When he walked back out, Yuri was sitting on the floor and petting Makkachin, and Viktor smiled at them, walking into the kitchen. “I was going to order takeout for dinner. What do you like?”

Yuri lit up, abandoning the dog and walking in to scrutinize the menu, pointing at his choice before looking at Viktor again. “Aren’t you going to take off your skating clothes?”

“Oh! I forgot!” Viktor laughed, before grinning wider, a grin that Yakov claimed made him know when Viktor had a ‘bad idea’. “I’ll be right back!” And he sped away into his bedroom, grabbing the bag he’d picked up at the store when he’d been out. See, he was supposed to only get food, but he’d seen a pair of soft leopard print pajamas that were… pretty close to the size of Yuri, and could only think of his skate guards.

Maybe they were also pink.

And maybe Viktor got himself a matching pair of pajama pants.

“Look!” Viktor held it up, and Yuri stared at it for a moment, before a little bit of excitement lit up his face, quickly squashed down by that indifferent look he always (for some reason) defaulted to.

“What are they?”

“Leopard print pajamas! Try them on!” Viktor shoved them in Yuri’s direction, who took them.

“Why are they pink?”

“Aren’t they soft?” Viktor shooed Yuri toward the bathroom, and a few minutes later, the ten-year-old stepped out, sort of drowning in the cloth. Okay. Maybe Viktor hadn’t estimated the sizes _perfectly_ , but the pants fit well enough, and the shirt was… only… a little… big. Whatever.

“They’re fine or whatever.” But not even his normal look could hide how excited Yuri was about the pajamas, and Viktor absolutely beamed.

“I thought of your skate guards when I saw them. You like leopards, right?” Viktor said, proud to have obviously gotten something so right about Yuri Plisetsky despite only really getting to know him that night.

“Tigers are better.” He grumbled, and Viktor could barely hear him, before he spoke again. “Tigers are better. But there were no tiger guards and I guess leopards are okay, too.”

“When’s your birthday?” The question probably seemed like it came out of nowhere, and, _yep_ , Yuri Plisetsky was squinting at him like he’d just asked something completely unreasonable.

“March. Why?” So suspicious! Maybe he _was_ learning too much from Yakov. Lesson Number 1: Do not immediately accept anything Viktor Nikiforov says without at least the smallest bit of suspicion.

“I’ll buy you some! Tiger print skate guards, I mean!” Viktor beamed, and those narrow, suspicious eyes only narrowed.

“Why would you do that?”

“We’re friends now, Yura!”

“Why would you call me that?” Okay, back up, back up. Coming on too strong. He knew that Yuri Plisetsky was a little hesitant and Viktor tended to come on a little strong, but they’d be fine. They’d work it out.

“Because we’re friends.”

“You’ve only just taken me to your apartment and let me stay the night and bought me pajamas. I don’t know if that really qualifies as friends, Viktor.” This kid was _ten_. When Viktor was ten he – oh. Actually. Let’s not go there. Fun night. No diving into Viktor’s past.

Maybe he and Yuri Plisetsky had more in common than he thought.

“Well, then, we will be friends! March is plenty of months away, still, so we have time!” Viktor smiled, and Yuri slowly grew less suspicious before he nodded, relaxing back into the couch.

After a few more moments, Yuri scooted closer to him, scrutinizing him closely, and Viktor raised an eyebrow. “Your hair is messy.” Was finally what the younger skater said, sticking out a hand. “Let me fix it.”

And what else could Viktor do but take the tie out of his hair and press it into the ten-year-old’s hand, sitting patiently on the couch while Yuri struggled to pull the silver strands into a messy braid, but, admittedly, still better than the disaster that the bun had become after they’d skated. After Yuri was pleased with his work, he stayed sat next to Viktor, just watching whatever was on the tv until they ate.

Viktor changed into his own pajamas after their food came (and Yuri had rolled their eyes that they were matching, especially when Viktor grabbed a camera off of his table and insisted on taking pictures of them). After dinner, they turned on a movie, some cartoon that Yuri claimed he was too old to watch, but had gotten enraptured in completely, before falling asleep on Viktor’s couch, curled up under a blanket and Makkachin.

Viktor shooed the dog off of the couch first, luring Makkachin away quietly with a treat and pausing to pet for a few moments to make sure his dog knew just how good he was being for Yuri, before looking at the sleeping ten-year-old on the couch.

What were the chances that Viktor could pick him up and carry him back to the bedroom without waking him up? The guest room was all set up for the boy, and his bag was in there, but how heavy of a sleeper was he? And how likely was it that Viktor wouldn’t drop him?

…

Okay.

So.

Maybe he should just wake Yuri up and let him walk himself into the guest room. Viktor walked over to the couch, smiling at the small lump of pink leopard print, and almost regretting that he had to wake him up, but he’d be much more comfortable if he actually slept in a bed, so the older Russian leaned down to shake his shoulder, strands of the too-loose braid that Yuri had attempted falling into his face when he leaned over.

“Yura,” Viktor murmured the name, shaking his shoulder softly again, and this time, the ten-year-old opened his eyes.

“Yuri.” His complaint was whiny, and matched with a yawn, so Viktor chose to ignore it.

“I have a bed in another room, much more comfortable. Let’s go.” Viktor helped him off of the couch, even though Yuri dropped his hand as soon as he realized that he was being helped, only letting Viktor lead him to the room because he didn’t know where it was (or so he said).

“Goodnight, Yura.” Viktor smiled, waiting until the boy had wrapped himself in the blanket, nearly invisible before he closed the door most of the way, walking from the room. He heard a half-hearted attempt to correct the nickname as he retreated into his own room, calling Makkachin, and he laughed. He fell back onto his bed and cuddled his dog until he fell asleep.

In the morning, Yuri not only woke up first, but also started to get things out to make them breakfast before Viktor made it out to the kitchen, startling in surprise when he saw the young boy searching out a pan. “Do you need help?”

“No. I make breakfast every day. And you just bought food last night, which probably means that you don’t even know how to cook, so just tell me where you keep your pans.” And, while Viktor wanted to argue that, actually, he was a very good cook, he just hadn’t felt like cooking after practice yesterday, how could he argue with the boy who had the sleeves of his pajamas rolled up to his elbow to keep them out of breakfast, and his arms crossed over his chest in a pout.

He was just glad that he bit down the laugh, because he was pretty sure that would have put him on the receiving side of a Yuri Plisetsky fit of rage. Instead, he just immediately turned to the cabinet, getting out everything that Yuri demanded of him and setting them down within the boy’s reach.

Yuri did ask for help when it came to the oven, and Viktor was happy to take charge, only doing exactly as the ten-year-old commanded. And, actually, they cooked well together. Breakfast was good, even if cooked mostly by a ten-year-old. Why did he do that by himself so often?

It didn’t matter, because Viktor didn’t have enough time to ask before they had to change clothes so that they’d make it to the rink on time (… they were running _a little_ late).

It was a little strange that no one would pick Yuri up from the rink before his practice, so that the ten-year-old was there all day before he had to go onto the ice, but… Well, Viktor didn’t know who to ask about that, and Yuri was acting like it was normal.

So, he brought him in the rink early in the morning, and Yuri immediately started to walk back toward the offices, explaining that was where he’d sit to do his homework while he waited for his practice. Viktor wondered how often he sat back there, how he’d never noticed that. Well, now, he’d just have to bring Yuri to his apartment more often.

Speaking of that –

“You’re always welcome back, Yura.” Viktor smiled, starting to walk off so he could pull on his skates before Yakov would yell at him. Well, more than usual.

“Do you mean that?” Yuri Plisetsky’s voice was small, smaller than he imagined from the boy with such a strong personality.

“Of course I do.” Viktor turned, walking forward and leaning down, smiling bright as he ruffled Yuri’s hair, an action which immediately sparked the tiny blond into action, shoving Viktor’s hand away. “Who else is going to make my breakfast?” He winked at Yuri before walking away.

It took him almost an hour to realize the ten-year-old hadn’t yelled at him for using the nickname that time.

In March, Yuri was presented with a pair of tiger print skate guards that perfectly fit his new skates, and tried to act like he wasn’t excited.

By the time Yuri Plisetsky was thirteen, he had a key to Viktor’s apartment. Viktor had wanted to give it to him immediately after that first night, but Yakov refused to let him.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for liking/kudosing/commenting/etc. on this and other fics I love your support. Come grab me on tumblr if you want to scream about my sons. Or want me to write something. Or just want to scream in general.


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